Chapter 823: The Blurring Boundaries

A minute later, unable to watch any longer, Pittman patted Byron on the arm. “Enough crying for now. We still have work to do.”

“When did I cry?” Byron shot a glare at the little old man in front of him. “I just got a bit emotional, that’s all!”

“Alright, alright, I’ll pretend I didn’t see it,” Pittman muttered, handing Byron a handkerchief. “Quick, wipe it off. Don’t let your soldiers see you like this.”

“You wouldn’t understand—you’ve never raised a child…”

Pittman rolled his eyes. “Who hasn’t? Amber was raised by me. She didn’t even start talking until she was almost ten, and I didn’t react half as much as you are now.”

Byron usually prided himself on his silver tongue—he was confident he could out-argue even Pittman, who was famously thick-skinned. But right now, he wasn’t in the mood for a verbal sparring match. The white-haired knight simply looked on with slightly reddened eyes, watching Pea smile at him. The wrinkles around his eyes deepened as he said softly, “That’s good… really good… Are you feeling uncomfortable anywhere?”

“At first… just a little… numb…” Pea struggled to speak, but soon her voice smoothed out. Though synthesized through the vocal device, it seemed to carry a growing spark of genuine emotion. “Now… it’s much better…”

“That’s good, that’s good,” Byron said repeatedly, then asked Pea to turn around so he could see the metal neural cord quietly resting against the back of his adopted daughter’s neck. “Does it feel heavy? Will it be uncomfortable if you wear it for a long time?”

“There’s definitely some weight,” Pittman explained. “The weight-reducing runes require extra energy, and fitting the neural cord and brainwave interface into such a small device is already a tight squeeze. There’s no room left for more weight reduction runes. We’ll improve this in future models.”

“I think… it’s fine,” Pea said, gesturing with her hands out of habit—even though she could now speak, years of silence made her still rely on gestures. “Not very heavy, not tiring.”

“Of course. We couldn’t add weight-reducing runes, but we used as light materials as possible. Overall, the weight is acceptable,” Pittman said proudly, stroking the few strands of beard on his chin. “After all, this device needs to be popularized among ordinary people. Comfort and ease of use are key.”

Byron smiled brightly, rubbing his hands together. “Today’s a day to remember… I’m going to celebrate with a few drinks when I get home…”

No sooner had he spoken than Pea frowned, and through the neural thorn’s vocal device came a complaining voice: “Dad, you drink too much! How many times have I told you to quit? Why won’t you listen…”

Byron’s face flushed with embarrassment. He was about to respond when Pea continued without pause:

“And you were the one who said you’d quit for a whole month the first time, beating your chest and promising. It’s been two years now, and you haven’t stopped at all…

“You’re not young anymore, you know? You have more white hairs than black! The papers talk about the dangers of excessive drinking. You always say Mr. Gawain is a learned man and his words make sense—so why don’t you listen to him…”

Byron looked awkward, barely managing to say “I…” before Pea launched into another rapid-fire tirade:

“And lately, you keep going to bed without showering. I have to remind you to wash up. You don’t groom your beard, and I have to pick out your clothes every day. How do you even manage out there? Didn’t you say the army has strict discipline?

“A few days ago, Uncle Philip came back, and you dragged him out drinking, saying you wanted to introduce him to some young ladies—I was there with some classmates! Dad, you don’t think about your image at all. And when Miss Kelly came over last time, you came out in your pajamas and scared her. She’s my teacher, you know…

“And the time before that, when you finally had a day off, you just had to…”

“Stop! Stop right there!” Byron finally seized the chance, shouting to cut her off. After managing to interrupt Pea’s endless chatter, he looked at Pittman in disbelief. “What’s going on… Can the neural thorn really affect Pea’s personality?!”

Pea glared at Byron and Pittman, her expression saying, “I’m only tolerating you talking because I have to.” Pittman gave Byron a strange look, hesitating before saying, “I don’t think it’s changing her personality. She’s just had all these things she wanted to say all along…”

“Exactly,” Pea jumped in before Byron could respond. Clearly, she had adapted quickly to the neural thorn and was now speaking with ease. “I have so much to say! I just couldn’t say it before—writing is slow, gestures aren’t clear, and Dad, you never paid attention…”

Then came another torrent of words. Byron didn’t even get a chance to interrupt this time.

Pittman looked at Byron with a mix of surprise, sympathy, and helplessness. Around them, the assistants and researchers wore equally expressive faces—almost everyone knew Pea, this hardworking, well-behaved girl with a tragic past. They remembered her as quiet and obedient, never causing trouble during experiments. But now, thanks to the neural thorn, they were seeing a whole new side of her—

She was silent, but her mind was full.

Bombarded by Pea’s relentless chatter, Byron’s expression became a complex mix of amusement and embarrassment. He glanced around and saw everyone watching with amused smiles—not malicious, but enough to make him feel awkward. Pittman chuckled and asked, “Feeling a bit regretful now?”

Byron opened his mouth, glanced at Pea standing nearby, clearly happy to finally speak her mind, and his embarrassed expression slowly softened into a smile.

“Regret my ass,” he said with a laugh. “I think this is just fine.”

Pea immediately widened her eyes. “Dad, you just swore! Uncle Philip has told you so many times to watch your manners. Even if you don’t care about your status, you should think about how you affect me… Luckily, I haven’t picked up your bad habits, or else…”

Byron was speechless.

After the verbal onslaught finally ended, Byron looked at Pittman, a bit dazed. “So… can we leave now?”

“Yes, no more tests today,” Pittman said, suppressing a smile. “We’ll monitor Pea’s adaptation to the neural thorn over the next two weeks—her sleep patterns, any skin allergies near the cranial contact points. Also, every ten days, bring the device in for us to check the artificial neural cord’s activity. Other than that, no special precautions. Pea can wear it regularly and see if it causes any inconvenience in daily life.”

Byron and Pea listened carefully, committing Pittman’s instructions to memory. After a brief silence, Byron suddenly said, “…I’m leaving for the North soon. The official orders have arrived. I depart in three days.”

Winter was ending, and the spring campaign to develop the northern coast and build the Imperial Navy was about to begin. Byron had known this for some time, and recently, the order personally signed by the Empire’s leader had finally reached him.

It wasn’t a secret mission. News about building the northern port and developing the northern territories had appeared in newspapers and broadcasts days ago. Pea already knew. She pursed her lips and looked up at Byron, but only a low, unhappy tremor came through the vocal device.

“She’s grown up and can take care of herself,” Pittman said, watching the unusual father and daughter. Suddenly, he seemed to see years ago, when Cecil City was just the “Cecil Outpost,” when the middle-aged knight had suddenly found himself with an adopted daughter and was flustered, and the quiet, obedient little girl who was always tense in new surroundings. Years flashed before his eyes. The seasoned druid smiled and shook his head. “We’ll take good care of her.”

“Thanks in advance,” Byron said, then sighed and laughed self-deprecatingly. “Why am I suddenly so sentimental? I don’t usually get this emotional when I leave…”

“Today’s the first time your daughter called you ‘Dad.’ Every father feels this way,” Pittman said with the knowing look of someone who’d been there. “Don’t worry. One day, when she starts nagging you for not showering, for your messy clothes, for not keeping up with the young folks, and constantly points out your flaws—that’s when you won’t feel so sentimental anymore…”

Byron thought for a moment, then glanced awkwardly at Pea. “But I think she already kind of dislikes me.”

Pittman: “…”

“And you’re so detailed about this because you have a lot of experience, right?”

Pittman: “…If there’s nothing else, get going. Don’t bother this old man while I’m working!”

Soon, Byron left with Pea, leaving Pittman and his team of technicians alone in the lab.

The assistants began tidying up the equipment and compiling detailed records of Pea’s use of the neural thorn for future reference. Pittman shook his head and walked over to a cabinet with a crystal glass panel.

Inside, several spare neural thorn devices rested quietly on stands, their cold metallic surfaces gleaming under the cabinet’s light.

A faint sliding sound came from nearby as Kamail, glowing with a soft blue arcane light, floated into the room.

“I just saw Byron and Pea in the hallway,” Kamail said as he approached Pittman. “Pea was wearing the neural thorn—it looks like it’s working normally?”

“Very smoothly,” Pittman smiled. “And you missed the best part.”

“To me, the success of this project is already the best part,” Kamail buzzed, glancing at the cabinet and the few neural thorn devices inside. “Three finished sets left… We should be ready for the next phase.”

“Combining the neural thorn with the Type II magic terminal to create true magic-wielding magi…” Pittman’s expression grew unusually serious, as if speaking to himself. “At that point, the line between the extraordinary and the ordinary will almost vanish…”

“Ordinary people will no longer be limited to just pressing buttons on machines to unleash specific spells. They’ll be able to sense magical energy like true mages, guiding supernatural forces with their own will and mind. This will be a fundamental breakthrough—something we’ve been striving to achieve all along,” Kamail said, his voice tinged with a sense of awe. “By then, the term ‘supernatural’ might no longer apply. It will truly become a power accessible to every mortal.”

“The End of All Things and the Sleeper spent seven hundred years developing the foundational technology—though that wasn’t their original intention, we can certainly thank them now,” Pittman said with a wink. “Brain-machine interfaces are the toughest part of enabling ordinary people to sense magic and control spells. Neural thorns have solved that problem, so the rest of the work will be much easier.”

“Let’s get started,” Kamail said as the blue light on his body grew brighter. His tone lifted, filled with joy and energy. “There’s still so much to do.”

(End of chapter)